To be an artist...

Autumn mornings I wake before the sun,

scrape tired limbs from under the covers,

leaving bits of myself behind like raw pancake batter...


Is there time to make pancakes for breakfast?

Time... If only I had more time...

Stress starts sneaking up,

suggesting failure, misery...



Today, I am an artist.

I look for God's paintbrush in the clouds,

for poetry in the morning announcements,

for Kinkadian light in the cafeteria.

There IS hope, joy, gladness.

Artists don't fear mistakes;

There's no such thing!

Only happy accidents;

So I look for happy accidents.

The world makes sense.

I wake up again without fear,

because I am an artist.

I am an Artist.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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